Ah, my beloved, fill the Cup that clears
Today of past regrets and future Fears-
Tomorrow? - Why, Tomorrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Seven Thousand Years.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.

And we,that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?

Ah.make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

Ah, fill the Cup:-what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn Tomorrow, and dead Yesterday
Why fret about them if Today be sweet!

Wilderness
Paradise